


Fallen Head, Fallen Heart

by Vermillion Jay (krolium)



Series: Old Requests [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Forced Relationship (Implied), Hurt/Comfort, I crammed a lot of sadness into these thousand words, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 07:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11375811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krolium/pseuds/Vermillion%20Jay
Summary: The room reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, Norway noted as he stumbled over a glass liquor bottle. On the bed in front of him lay his former lover, scowling and pouting like a five-year old, cheeks tinged a drunken pink as he glared at the ceiling. His hair was greasy, and it he looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks. “Go away,” he drawled, taking a long drag from his cigarette and sighing out a cloud of smoke. “I told ya I never wanted t’see ya again.”“Well aware,” Norway replied, compulsively putting scattered bottles on the dresser and pushing broken glass and myriad cigarette butts to the corner so no one would step on them. Satisfied for the time-being, Norway pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat beside him. “You also said that I was a heartless ass who had resigned himself to being Sweden’s bitch, but I never saw you try to help me.”In which Sweden has taken over Norway, and Denmark has driven himself to madness because of it.





	Fallen Head, Fallen Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Another request from Tumblr. The prompt for this one was "don't fucking touch me" + DenNor.
> 
> You probably don't need to read all of this, but here's the background if you want it:
> 
> This fic is set circa 1815, a few months after Sweden took over Norway. When did Sweden ever take over Norway, you ask? Here's the Spark Notes version: After getting the short end of the stick in the Napoleonic Wars, Denmark was forced to cede Norway to Sweden. In an effort to prevent Sweden from actually taking over, Norway declared independence and Denmark helped the new country establish a government. Unfortunately, Sweden still wanted some extra land to make up for the fact the loss of Finland a few years earlier (pining Sve, anyone?), so the nation declared war on Norway. Of course, the new nation didn't stand a chance, and they quickly fell under Swedish control. This is the point in canon where Himaruya mentions Denmark "writing an angry letter to Norway." I kinda took that sliver of canon (one of my favorite slivers of canon, actually) and ran with it.
> 
> Also, I didn't really mean to do this, but I kinda subconsciously tapped into my old bipolar!Denmark headcanon. He very clearly acts mentally ill in this, so if that bothers you, beware. Before you ask: yes, I do have personal experience with both bipolar and depression. I'm not an expert, but this is in line with what I've seen of it.

“Danmark?” Norway cried as he made his way down a familiar hall, to a room he must’ve spent a million nights in.

Yet, everything seemed entirely alien to him. The fine paintings on the wall were crooked, the wallpaper tattered, and a vase lay destroyed on the ground, shards of glass still scattered about without any attempt to clean up the mess. Norway distantly noted that all the maids had been sent away, and that Iceland was the one eagerly signing documents in the study rather than Denmark.

So, it was as bad as his brother had said.

He’d only left a few months ago, but unfortunately, he wasn’t surprised. How could he be, after that tactless, frenzied letter he’d received?

“Danmark,” he repeated with more confidence as he walked through the open door to the man’s chamber.

It reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, Norway noted, wincing as stumbled over a glass liquor bottle (luckily, he didn’t break it). And there, on the bed, lay his former lover, scowling and pouting like a five-year old, cheeks tinged a drunken pink as he glared at the ceiling. His hair was greasy, and it he looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks. “Go away,” he drawled, taking a long drag from his cigarette and sighing out a cloud of smoke. “I told ya I never wanted t’see ya again.”

“Well aware,” Norway replied, compulsively putting scattered bottles on the dresser and pushing broken glass and myriad cigarette butts to the corner so no one would step on them. Satisfied for the time-being, Norway pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat beside him. “You also said that I was a heartless ass who had resigned himself to being Sweden’s bitch, but I never saw you try to help me.”

Denmark sneered. “What, ya come here t’blame me? Yer the one who lost to Sverige.”

“Oh, like you’ve never lost to Sve, you high and mighty conqueror, you.” The sardonicism in Norway’s voice was harsh enough for Dan to cringe as he drew in another breath of smoke. This only encouraged him. “Face it: you’re just depressed because your Empire has fallen.”

“Fallen? I’ve still got Ice and Green.” And, though Denmark’s tone still shone with confidence, Norway could tell he was grasping at straws.

“It’s only a matter of time before Iceland leaves, and Greenland holds very little political influence. You know that.”

Denmark huffed out black smog, clenching his fists into the ruffled bedsheets. “Well, aren’t you charming?” he retorted with a manic grin that told Norway he was really, truly pissed off. “How’s Sve likin’ ya?”

Honestly, Norway didn’t know what he’d expected. “Sverige hates this just as much as I do – why do ya think he’s letting me visit you so soon? I think he’s finally realized that I’m not Finland.”

“No, you aren’t. Finland would beg for my forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness for what? Losing a war?” Norway shot back, unable to hold himself back. _He’s ill,_ he tried to remind himself. _He doesn’t mean it._ His voice softened in its own, somber way as his eyes screwed shut. “My army is weak,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m weak. Don’t make me say that again.”

Such open dejection from Norway was enough to shock Denmark into silence, pondering on those humble words as he smoked.

Finally, his cigarette dwindled down to the nub, Denmark stamped it out on the nightstand and tossed it across the room, sighing irritably as he ran a hand through his hair. “Why are you here?”

“Your letter was concerning, and Ice told me you’d gone mad.”

Denmark snorted. “So? Can’t you let me go mad in peace? I’ve got my coping mechanisms in order.”

“Yes, I can see you’re doing wonderfully,” Norway replied, sarcasm creeping into his words and begging Denmark to see reason. “That’s why Iceland’s secretly taken control of your responsibilities, your house is a wreck, you haven’t been seen in public since I entered the Union, and you smell like rancid meat.”

The man glared at him, suddenly seething in a tempest of barely contained fury.

But, that dissipated as quickly as a summer storm, giving way to reluctant, dark sunshine that spelled impending doom. He let out a crazed laugh, one that Norway hadn’t heard in centuries. “Stop pretending you care.”

Norway knew he should have stopped there. This was always how his violent rages started, with brief periods of uneasy, snarky calm before he gave in to his own madness.

This was Norway’s last warning, but he wasn’t going to heed it. Instead, he grabbed Denmark’s hand, kissing his forehead as if it would ease the illness teeming under the madman’s skull. “I do care, though. I never stopped loving you, Dan. Not even when you get like this. Please, let me take care of you.”

The next moment, he was shoved away, and though the movement seemed unnecessarily violent, Norway noticed that he was still entirely unscathed.

He wasn’t sure whether to attribute that to luck, or whether that showed that Denmark was holding onto the last shreds of his sanity, the glimmers of love that lived on in spite of heartbreak.

Perhaps it was just mercy in the name of their past relationship.

Either way, Dan looked ready to throttle Norway, so he didn’t question.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he grit out. “Don’t pretend you love me. Don’t pretend I deserve your love.”

“Denmark-”

“My empire’s fallen, Norge. I’m just as weak and useless as you are, but my brain is so sick. During the day, I can’t even think to do anything but stay in my bed and drink myself into a stupor. At night, I dream of you. Every night, it’s you, and every night you tell me that I should end my own life. I wake up in the morning, and remember that even if I deserve it, I can’t die. It’s like the opposite of Kalmar Union, where instead of always feeling like I can take over the world, I feel completely useless. I get angry. I lash out at Iceland enough that he’s scared of me, enough that he won’t let me talk to anyone else. I hurt myself and everyone I touch!” By this point, he’d worked himself up to a frantic ranting, talking a mile a minute as he realized the inanity of his own words. “Nor, I should be in a madhouse. Don’t fucking touch me!”

The deep quiet after that crazed warning was deafening. Then, after a minute of tense silence, Norway leaned in and kissed Denmark’s forehead again. “You really ought to quit listening to current doctors. I don’t care if you start foaming at the mouth; no one’s taking you to a madhouse. You’re a nation, breakdowns are to be expected. You’ve been like this before, remember? I’m not leaving you alone this time just because we’re not formally united anymore. I love you.”

Denmark shook his head, eyes wide and glazed over with confusion, as if he couldn’t quite believe Norway’s words. “Is there any way to help this?”

Deep in his heart, Norway wished he could give him a finite answer, a foolproof prognosis that would cure whatever nameless disease this was.

Unfortunately, there was only one thing Norway could think to say as he laid a gentle hand on Denmark’s cheek. “A bath couldn’t hurt. Come here.”

For what seemed like the first time in months, Denmark managed a gentle, melancholy smile as he leaned into the touch, placing a clammy hand atop Norway’s. “I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled as he moved the back of Norway’s hand to his lips.

“Stop that, stupid. None of this was your fault. Now, come on. If we move quickly, I might have time to make butter cookies before dinner.”


End file.
